


Ides

by sage_theory (papersage)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papersage/pseuds/sage_theory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested by zortified who wanted Beckett and Caesar and maybe slash. Mostly angst and how Carson's *good* is oft interr'd with his bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ides

**1\. When It Pours**

It was the last few days of the rainy season when they arrived. The rain had gone from constant deluge to occasional downpour. When they walked through the gate on that Thursday, they were greeted by the wet smack of water up to their waists.

"Woah, I thought the probe said this place was dry grassland," Sheppard said, holding up his gun. Rodney was make sputtering noises and occasional curses in relation to his equipment.

The true watermark was the people, at least for Carson. There was no dry place within reach, Carson figured. He could tell the people had been walking in water for weeks. The amount of foot rot was staggering. And not just on the feet either. The driest place was where the water was only up to Carson's knees. The water had been stagnant, festering with insect eggs now hatching to larval states and communicable diseases for at least a week.

Some chief came out to meet them. Carson offered medical assistance. Their acceptance of medicine was wary at first. After two days on the planet, they started looking like natives, carrying everything on their heads. Rodney had his equipment tied to high branches in trees to keep it dry. When it became obvious that the planet had nothing substantive to offer, at least until it dried out, Ford had returned to join another team on a recon mission.

On the third day, Rodney was adamant that they needed to leave. He was sitting uncomfortably in a tree, complaining of having branches and twigs in places nature never intended. Zelenka agreed with him, and that was unusual, because Zelenka was not the habitual complainer that Rodney was. Carson felt sorry for Zelenka, who'd only come to get a field evaluation from Sheppard.

"These people are desperate," Carson argued, chewing on whatever was dry in the food rations they brought. An end of the season storm – which had finally stopped sometime in the early morning – had soaked most of everything.

"They do this every year," Rodney sniped back. "They'll be fine."

"You heard what the chief said. They lose nearly a fourth of their population every year – most of them children. We have the resources to help them."

"Fine. We'll go back and get qualified medical personnel," Rodney argued.

"If we go back, I don't think Dr. Weir will let us return," Carson told him. He leaned in close to Rodney. "I heard them talking about the Genii. They trade with them, I think. But the Genii won't come back until after the flooding's gone down and they're still expecting a little rain. But I dinnae think Dr. Weir would let us return if she knew that. And I'm not prepared to lie to her either."

Rodney groaned. "Let me get this straight. You want me to stick around when there's a chance there's going to be both Genii *and* rain. Let's see. Genii. Rain. The two things that I have been *most* traumatized by since I *got* to this galaxy and you want me to hang around to say hello?"

"Stop yer whinging," Carson sighed. "I just need a day or two. I could prevent more than half the deaths that are going to occur here. Do you know how many lives I could save if I just had forty-eight hours? Think about how many of these children could be saved if I just had time. Just forty-eight hours. Think about it, Rodney. Two days. What could it possibly hurt?"

Rodney shook his head and groaned more, but they were all groans of defeat. "Fine. I'll find some convincing scientific reason to stay. But that's it. Forty-eight hours and I am going through that gate, with or without you."

Carson was happy as a lamb. He jumped off the tree branch and with a medical kit on his head, waded into towards the village, with sick children clinging to trees. He waded in the water, made dark brown with mud and human waste.

And he smiled, stopped at the first tree he came to and told them that he could take care of their infant's fever. The parents practically dropped the baby down to him. They held his medical kit, he climbed up in the tree and slapped on a pair latex gloves. Two hours later, while Rodney dozed in the tree, he heard loud splashing, enough to wake him up. He saw Carson, Teyla, Zelenka, and Sheppard running hellbent for leather towards something and out of nothing but instinct, he went running too.

Someone had drowned.

Carson and some villagers lifted the man into a tree and Carson, hand over hand, pressed into his chest in a steady, demanding rhythm, compelling him to breathe and live again. The man's body obeyed Carson's commands. He coughed up filthy water and opened his eyes. For the longest time, there was nothing but the occasional sound of water colliding against trees or bodies and the harsh wheezing of the man who laid against the branch, alive only because of Carson.

"What the hell happened?" asked Carson staring at the villagers.

"I pushed him out of a tree while he slept!" shouted a woman, wading through both the water and the onlooking crowd to come to the bottom of the tree. She looked up at Carson behind a curtain of stringy, wet black hair that obscured her face. "Do you know what he did to me?"

There were quick splashes coming closer. The chief pushed passed Zelenka and Teyla.

He leaned on his long spear and contemplated the woman, Carson, and the man for a moment. He turned to the woman. "You took your revenge?"

"And this man saved him!" she said, pointing angrily up to Carson.

"Look, I really don't know what's going on here. He was going to die," Carson told the chief. The chief nodded.

"Show him," the chief ordered, in a grim voice. The woman pulled back her hair to reveal burns that traced down from the side of her face below the hem of shirt. Carson took a good look.

"We have surgeons on Atlantis who could help with that," Carson told the woman.

"The gods appointed this man to die justly," the chief said, in a flat, loud voice. Then he looked up at Carson, his eyes blank. "I thought you had come to us as a gift, but I should have known better. The gods do not send gifts freely."

His eyes were just as blank when he threw his spear and hit Carson in the chest, knocking him out of the tree. The people around them all seemed to suddenly draw knives that none of the team had been aware they had. The people rushed for Carson, who was coughing and splashing in the water. They came at him like a wave descending on a shore.

Carson remembered pieces, fragments from dreams he would have later. He remembered the face of the man who's child he'd saved. The man who'd handed down the limp body of an infant and implored his help. He remembered sharp burning pains. He remembered seeing Rodney and Teyla kicking up giant waves of water coming towards him. Mostly he remembered bloody water and gunfire.

And the last clear, stupendous thought he had as he saw Rodney's face break through the crowd: _I could've helped you if you'd let me, you great idiots. Now they're just going to shoot you. Bloody stupid. Bloody hell._

Carson would later ask both Rodney and Teyla if he'd said it aloud or just thought it.

 

 

 **2\. What the Thunder Said**

File #414937  
Transcription of Audio Recording #10022945  
Date: 1/05/05  
Classified: Top Secret

 

Maj. Sheppard: "Atlantis, we have an incoming medical emergency. I need a team ready in the gateroom."

Dr. Weir: "We read you Major. What does Dr. Beckett say?"

Maj. Sheppard: "He *is* the medical emergency. Multiple stab wounds."

Dr. Weir: "What happened?"

Dr. McKay: "They tried to kill him, Elizabeth. That's what happened. Now raise the damn shield, we don't have time for this."

Dr. Weir: "Shield is deactivated. Come on through."

Maj. Sheppard: "Come, get him up, let's go."

Teyla Emmagan: "He is no longer conscious. He is not capable of walking."

Dr. McKay: "Oh, wow, how long did it take you to make that astute observation?"

Maj. Sheppard: "Rodney, this is not the time."

Dr. Weir: "Is there a problem, Major?"

Dr. Zelenka: "What if we floated him through? I think that trying to pick him up will only serve to aggravate his wounds."

Teyla Emmagan: "Dr. Zelenka is right. Picking him up will not help."

Dr. McKay: "And letting him smack the ramp once the water's not there to hold him up is going to do so much for him."

Maj. Sheppard: "Got a better idea Rodney?"

Dr. McKay: "Look, we all hold him and when we get to the other side, we let him down gently."

Maj. Sheppard: "Fine, it's a plan. Teyla, Zelenka, get his legs. On three."

Dr. McKay: "God, if I had even one more bullet left."

Maj. Sheppard: "That's not helping, McKay!"

Teyla Emmagan: "They believed what they were doing was right."

Dr. McKay: "I don't give a damn!"

Dr. Weir: "Major, what's your situation? We still have you on radio."

Maj. Sheppard: "On three, people! One, two – shit."

Dr. Zelenka: "That's not what comes after two, Major!"

(indiscriminate screaming in background).

Dr. McKay: "I don't have anymore ammo. What the hell do we do?"

Maj. Sheppard: "Zelenka, you have any rounds left?"

Dr. Zelenka: "Yes, Major."

Maj. Sheppard: "Give your gun to McKay. Teyla, Zelenka, you two get him back to Atlantis. We'll cover you. You said you wanted one more bullet, McKay. Just don't shoot 'til I give the order. Got it?"

Dr. McKay: "Fine."

Maj. Sheppard: "I *mean* that. We can't just mow these people down."

Dr. McKay: "They tried to kill Carson, and they seem pretty eager to kill us as well. I don't think we're all gonna sit down and smoke a peace pipe!"

Maj. Sheppard: "Could you be less helpful, McKay?"

Dr. Weir: "Major, what's your situation?"

Maj. Sheppard: "What the hell are you standing there for? Go! Go! Now!"

(indiscriminate screaming from both indigenous people and Maj. Sheppard and Dr. McKay)

Dr. McKay: "Can I fire now?"

Maj. Sheppard: "Yes, fire! Fire!"

Dr. McKay: (indiscriminate screaming, gunfire)

(gunfire ceases)

Maj. Sheppard: "Atlantis, keep the gate open. We're coming through. We have multiple casualties. I do not recommend sending medical assistance. Repeat, do not send medical assistance. God, what a disaster."

 

 **3\. Campfire Tales**

McKay's hair is still wet from the shower he just took. The only reason Teyla finds him is because she's on the way to Major Sheppard's quarters and sees Rodney through Dr. Beckett's doorway. He's sitting on Dr. Beckett's bed, next to Lieutenant Ford. They're shoulder to shoulder and silent. In Rodney's hand is a worn, gray book. Neither of them see her in the door way, since they're sitting on the end of his bed, facing the wall. She leans against the frame of the open door and watches.

"I never told him I was sorry," Aiden says, softly.

"For what?" McKay asks, with a voice that is just as soft. Teyla leans in just a little to hear it better.

"For what happened during the storm. Man, I bitched at him but *good*. I should've said sorry, you know?"

"You did what you had to do," McKay assures him.

Teyla narrows her eyes. It feels odd to hear McKay say something like that. To hear him offer comfort when he is the one most obviously in need of it.

"I know, but it wasn't his fault. He's a doctor. And he did pretty good. If he ever gets over bein' afraid of everything, watch out."

They share a breath of laughter together. But only a breath, before the grim silence of the room takes back over.

"He didn't think any less of you," McKay tells Lieutenant Ford. It is a tone that Teyla thinks she's heard before, but only on dark, truly quiet nights, when she and her father talked in hushed tones across the fire to pass the long hours on watch.

"Well, I kinda thought less of me. I mean, I know, you gotta do what you gotta do. But he's a decent guy. I just hate that *that's* what I had to do," Aiden confesses.

"Yeah." McKay sighs. Teyla can see his torso expand and contract with the breath he takes and she hears a catch. "What you gotta do."

"I wish I'd been there," he says. McKay merely nods and Aiden rubs his shoulder and tells him, "I'm gonna go snag whatever's left of lunch. Want anything?"

McKay shakes his head.

When Aiden passes by Teyla in the doorway and looks at her for a moment. She leans her head to indicate McKay. He only shakes his head. It isn't that she doesn't know how to interpret the gesture, it's that there are so many choices. She steps into the room and stands behind McKay and puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Is this book of special signifigance?" she asks, pointing with her other hand to indicate what McKay is holding.

"I don't actually know," he admits. "It seems like a weird thing to take as a personal item. He could've taken music or a movie. Porn, even. But *he* brings a twenty year old copy of Julius Caesar to Pegasus."

"What is Julius Caesar?"

"A play about some emperor," McKay short hands. "Shakespeare wrote it."

"Shakespeare is a great bard among your people?"

"*The* Bard, actually. I asked Carson why he had it."

"Why did he not answer you?"

"Zelenka needed something in the lab, so he came by and I had to leave," McKay answers. She can feel him tense and freeze beneath her hand.

Though she does not understand their customs – which vary even among these people who are from only one world – she does understand that there are some things of which they do not dare to speak openly. She has learned that there are situations that are not allowed – especially among men. They do not touch as Athosian men do. They do not kiss or embrace as closely. They do not hold hands or lock arms when they walk together. The people of Earth believe this is dangerous. Perhaps, on Earth, it is.

It doesn't take any amount of true cleverness for her to see that somehow, McKay has gotten too close to Dr. Beckett. He must have touched and felt when the laws of his people – the laws that they all know of but do not speak about – would not have allowed it. It doesn't seem at all wrong to Teyla, nor does it seem strange. But she knows that they do not live like Athosians because they have never had to die like Athosians. They have life in such abundance that they can afford to forbid even love. The Athosians cannot. They know that death is always coming, always hunting for them and set on taking them in some panicked night or on a day when they were merely gathering water and planting the seeds of next season's harvest.

They touch because they know there will come a time when they cannot. The people of Earth forget this so easily. And when they are made to remember, it is worse than death. Teyla smiles down at him. "How fortuitous, since his laboratory and yours are on the other side of the city."

She can see his face scrunch up. "Fortuitous. Of course."

Then she sighs and says, taking her hand away, "I am sure Dr. Zelenka knows many short cuts in the city that would have led him through this corridor."

Again, Teyla sees his body expand and contract. And again, she hears his breath catch at the end.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"What will happen?" she asks, walking around to sit beside him where Ford once sat.

"I don't know," he answers, grimly. One hand rubs his eye as though he is exhausted. "It depends if he lives or not." McKay pauses for a moment and then jerks his head harshly. "How could he be so stupid?"

"He was a generous man. It was not in his nature to refuse those in need."

"*Is*, Teyla, *is*. And we are *not* going to start talking about him like he's in the past tense. He *is* generous. And he *is* stupid. I can't *believe* I helped him!"

Teyla tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

"There weren't any energy signatures under the water. He needed an excuse to stay there a couple more days. So I told him I'd find some excuse to hang around. He didn't think Elizabeth would let us return, because he found out they trade with the Genii. He said they weren't going to return until after the rainy season. And surprise, surprise, it turns out that this time it *wasn't* the Genii trying to kill us. Or the rain, for that matter. And look where it got us. God, all he wanted was a little more time."

Teyla nods. For a moment she feels betrayed, that they both would conceal something of such great importance. The Genii could have come through the gate at any moment. They knew this. It surprises her that McKay would consent to it at all. He has been wronged by the Genii as much as anyone on Atlantis. It is then that she understands what it was that gave McKay such a reason to panic at such a small question. He speaks around small truths – such as being in Dr. Beckett's quarters so frequently that another scientist knows to look for them there – so that he might hide the much greater one.

He is a man who cannot help but seek out bright things. He translates symbols on a board into machines that can power a city, obliterate an enemy with a light that explodes beyond the skies of a planet and can be seen from the ground. The Ancestors can hide no mysteries from McKay. And telling him that these bright things – ZPM's or Dr. Beckett - are forbidden or impossible is pointless. This is his nature, this is the thing which has made him great among his people and separate from them all the same.

Teyla can think of nothing else he can do, except try to reveal his nature where it is useful or impossible to cover up and hide the rest as best he can. And she can't begin to imagine the weariness, to hide the truth of yourself completely from everyone around you. Others would call him too honest, she would have said that once. Too forthright. Now she can see the tactic involved. No one suspects Rodney of lying about something so fundamental, because in all other things he tells truths (or at least his truths) even when others would not dare.

So she sees no need to scold him for this, for that lie or any others he's felt pressed to tell. He has enough prices to pay.

Instead, she answers by saying, "In the end, is time not what we all wish for?"

 

 **4\. The Love Song of Rodney McKay**

5:18 am.

"They said there's a chance you could make a full recovery. Svetsky gives you three to one odds, but he's an idiot. I know you can't fire him when you wake up, but could you at least make his life miserable for me? I dunno, superglue his face to a microscope one day. Itching powder in the lab coat. Something.

So, in case you were wondering, they counted twelve stab wounds. Twelve. Which means that either you're incredibly lucky or the people on that planet have incredibly bad aim, because most of the wounds were near your heart. There was one that knicked a ligament in your leg. Which I guess puts the kabosh on your dreams of becoming a world famous rugby player, but like I said. You've got a shot at a full recovery.

You should know that we didn't exactly make the cleanest retreat. They came after us, starting throwing spears and knives and rocks. We did what we had to do.

Yeah. Sometimes, this galaxy really, really sucks."

 

6:38 am

"God, why couldn't you be a naquadah generator? If you were a naquadah generator I could fix you.

And I wouldn't be stuck here with you – and you have *got* to talk to someone about these chairs. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable these chairs are? They're not even really chairs, they're stools with delusions of grandeur. We could defeat the Wraith with these things. Just make them sit in them for five hours – six *hours* now. God I could've slept, worked on my unifying theory, had lunch. For some reason, it doesn't seem important now.

Not even a unifying theory of physics, which would probably be the single most important fundamental advancement of our knowledge of the universe in, like, _ever_. And even if I knew that I could leave right now and find it, I don't think I could.

Knowing my luck, if I did, you'd decide to flatline. People think you're this really sweet guy who's all "oh, hope ye feel better" and handling lollipops to aliens kids, but I know you. You are a stubborn, difficult bastard. So I'm not going. Because you can't die while I'm watching.

God, these chairs. We have got to talk to Weir about better working conditions. This is ridiculous. At least in my lab we have ergonomic chairs. Well, I have one.How do you do this? This is impossible."

 

7:29 am

"I don't think I like this play. I've been reading Julius Caesar for *seven* hours, Carson. I've read it three times.

And can I just say that your people have *no* idea how to make coffee? I mean, what do you use down here? Actually, don't answer that. I *really* don't want to know.

Why the hell did you bring Julius Caesar?

I never did understand the point. The guy had a warning. Everyone told him not to go out. All the signs were there. And what does he do? He goes straight for the senate house.

He was emperor of freakin' Rome. And all he had to do was stay home for one lousy day.

I don't get it.

Why do some people insist on doing things no matter how many times you tell them that's it too dangerous?"

 

8:44 am

"I think my legs are going numb. It's possible I've sustained permanent damage to my peripheral nervous system. Lousy coffee. Lousy chair. And to top it all off, I'm reading a lousy play. For what? For those knife wielding maniacs?

I can't believe I let you talk me into this. No, really, Carson. Because this has *got* to be the stupidest thing either of us has ever done. I can't believe it.

I knew we should've left. But *oh no*. Carson has to play Florence Nightengale with the natives.

And if you think I'm not blaming this *completely* on you when Elizabeth asks, you are so wrong.

This isn't *my* fault, Carson. I said 'let's go'. I told you. Wherever there's rain and Genii, trauma follows, but you didn't listen. You just had to stay, didn't you? So don't think for minute that I'm taking the fall for this. Because I'm not. And I'm not feeling sorry for you, either. And I am *certainly* not going to be the one who packs up all your stuff, turns out your light, and closes your door. I am *not* cleaning up after you, Carson.

I don't care if I have to wire you to a ZPM that we don't even have, you are getting out of this bed.

Why is it I always have meaningful conversations with people in hospitals who could care less? At least Colonel Carter was *awake* to tell me she didn't care. So you have to wake up so *you* can tell me to stop whining. It's not that hard, even for you. See how that works? You wake up and say 'Rod-nay, ye're being a great arse'.

Just wake up. Come.

Say anything. Please. I'm dyin' here."

 

10:56 am

"Carson, I don't think I can do this anymore.

They won't let me have anymore coffee and I think I'm starting to like Julius Caesar.

You have to wake up because I don't have a back up plan. You're not circuit or a busted up generator. I can't rewire my life around you when you're gone.

And I don't know if you've heard a word I said. I kind of hope you haven't. Don't worry, it's nothing important. Except the part about the coffee and, oh, yeah, the chairs.

You know, my mom wanted me to be a medical doctor. Mostly because she thought it would help me pick up women – three guess why *that* didn't work. I took an anatomy course in college. I just – I couldn't do it. Everything in the human body is so complicated and people are amazingly easy to kill. I mean, look at us. We don't even have plates of armor or venom. I mean, if you want to disprove intelligent design, there you go. It's extraordinarily bad planning. We just walk around in our soft little skins expecting not to get hurt.

And you can't distance yourself from it, it isn't like a machine. No matter what you're doing, it's still a human being who'll look up at you and wonder why you can't fix them if you screw up. Who'll cry when you give them the bad news. Naquadah generators, computers, wormholes. They don't talk back. No matter how hard you try, you can't hurt them. And they can't hurt you.

People are just painful.

And somehow, you make the pain stop. Even if it's just for a little while. Even if nobody says thank you or even realizes that's what you did.

So that's why you have to get up. Because if you don't, I don't think anything will ever be right again. Not with this station, and not with me.

I don't know what to do for you.

I got nothing, Carson.

I got nothing."

 

 **5\. Et, Tu**

Sheppard actually checked for weapons, to make sure Rodney didn't have any available to him. Those were Dr. Weir's express orders. He was kind of surprised actually, but then not surprised because it made a lot of sense. He nodded at the order, made no comment, and made sure he gave Rodney a covert once over when he went to the infirmary to tell him what was up. Dr. Weir didn't want to do it over the communication systems.

So, Sheppard did his job. But not as well as he could have. He figured if Rodney was clever enough to hide a weapon where Sheppard couldn't see it, he deserved to have it. Actually, he was kind of hoping.

The first look he gets at Rodney isn't pleasant. He looks bad, strung out and overwrought, stubbly and slightly gray in complexion. His clothes are permanent wrinkled and Sheppard has to wonder if he's even showered yet. The way the nurses all avoid Rodney, try to walk around him as though he's an angry elephant tells Sheppard that chances are good he hasn't.

"How is he?" he asks.

"He woke up a couple of times in the night. He's resting right now. He can talk, but not for long," Rodney replies.

"When's the last time you slept?" Sheppard pulls up the second chair by the bed.

"I'm a big boy, Major. I can handle staying up past my bed time," he snipes, the frowns and rubs his red-rimmed eyes.

For moment, Sheppard is offended, feels like sniping right back. So he does. "Hey," he says, with a little more volume, "Sorry for showing concern for your well being."

Rodney shakes his head, relents. "Infirmaries make me cranky."

"Then how about leaving? Dr. Weir needs you in the conference room," he says, leaning back, hands interlaced behind his head.

"It can wait."

"Actually, it can't."

"Not that I don't believe it's entirely possible that Atlantis *can't* function without me, but if she needs my services that badly, she can come to *me*. Or, you know, radio," he says and points to his earpiece.

"Look, McKay, I know that it's important to you to stay with Dr. Beckett. I'm all for it. But I think this is a call you're gonna wanna take."

"Is there a ZPM or an actual, living Ancient involved?"

"Well, no."

"Then take a message, Major," he grunts, angrily.

"Ceissis came through the gate," Sheppard says, getting up and pushing his chair aside.

"Ceissis? The chief?"

"Twenty minutes ago."

What Rodney murmurs under his breath isn't to be repeated, and he explodes out of his seat and starts walking towards the conference room in a way that can only be described with word 'march'.

Sheppard does nothing to talk Rodney down. He told Weir to let the guy go splat against the shield. He remembers seeing her put her hand over her mouth and give a little gasp when she saw Carson, being frantically worked on by the medical team. She knows that this man gave the order, for all intents and purposes. Worst yet, she likes Dr. Beckett, and she still let Ceissis through the gate at the first hint of diplomacy. Frankly, he thinks that there's a point when you have the right to very undiplomatically tell someone to get bent and fuck off. With explosives. If Rodney wants to take a piece out of the chief, Sheppard thinks he should.

John Sheppard is not a vengeful man. Most fights, he's come to realize, nobody's the bad guy. But sometimes someone *is*.

The door to the conference room slides open and Rodney comes through and stops. The chief stands up and takes two steps back.

"You," Rodney says, in a way that is mostly a drawn out growl.

Sheppard realizes that there probably will be a point in time – very soon, in fact – that he'll have to hold Rodney back from going over the table at the man. Under different circumstances, it might be amusing to Rodney like this. To see him scruffy, unwashed, and unraveled, so close to snapping that Sheppard can't be sure he already hasn't. But at the moment it's just frightening.

"McKay, be cool," Sheppard says, putting his hand on Rodney's shoulder. He trembles underneath the touch, vibrating with rage.

"Be cool?" Rodney asks with a staggered laugh. "Be *cool*?"

Weir stays seated. "Chief Ceissis has come to offer apologies on behalf of his tribe."

"Well, on behalf of *my* tribe, apology not accepted," Rodney yells, to the point where his voice cracks from hoarseness. He crosses his arms, sets his eyes. "Is that all?"

"No," Weir answers, shaking her head. "Chief Ceissis has also requested humanitarian aid, including medical assistance, for the people that were shot and those affected by an epidemic that's begun to spread through the tribe."

"If I remember correctly, the first time we tried to offer humanitarian aid, our chief medical officer almost died. Is there a *reason* we let him through the gate or did you just think it would be funny?" Rodney says.

"I have a moral dilemma in front of me, Rodney. We knew the risks of stepping onto a populated alien planet, and we caused a lot of major casualties. Not only that, but the epidemic that Ceissis's people are suffering from may have come from us. I've consulted with Dr. Svetsky and he agrees."

"Not that I'm not absolutely loving the chance to come face to face again with the man who tried to murder Carson, but I was kind of busy already - watching my best friend recover from twelve *stab wounds*."

Rodney turns around and starts to walk away. Weir stands up. "Rodney!"

"What?" he asks, turning around mostly out of a respect for her than anything.

"The reason I asked you here was to get your opinion. I've decided this isn't a decision I'm completely qualified to make. I think the fairest thing to do, given the situation, is to allow Ceissis to make his case to Dr. Beckett."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

Weir shakes her head, one slow fluid motion side to side to tell Rodney that she's not. Rodney starts laughing his broken laugh of disbelief again.

"Let me get this straight. You want Carson to decide if Ceissis, who tried to kill him, and his tribe, who also tried to kill him, deserve our help?"

"I think he's earned that right, don't you, Dr. McKay?"

"I think he's earned the right to recover in peace."

"I'm not forcing this on him, Rodney," Weir says, in a softer tone meant only for him. "If he doesn't want to see Ceissis, I won't make him. But I think the decision should be his. Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford will of course be there to ensure the safety of everyone."

Rodney nods, frowns thoughtfully. His tone gets as gentle as Weir's. "I'll ask him next time he wakes up. It'll be a few days before he's up to it."

"I realize that. Major, would you mind escorting Chief Ceissis to somewhere comfortable where he can rest?" Weir's tone goes cold again.

Sheppard smiles. The two marines at the door snap to attention. "Chief, if you'll come with us. I think we have *just* the place for you."

The marines walk on either side of Ceissis. Sheppard walks behind him. Ceissis keeps looking nervously over his shoulder.

Every time he glances behind him, Sheppard smiles brightly but says nothing at all.

They arrive at a room that's been empty since the Athosians left for the continent. It still smells of animal smells and wax candles. It's dark and small. Sheppard cues the lights on mentally and stands in the door way. Ceissis stands in the middle of the room, which is only about four feet away.

"Here we are," Sheppard tells him, still smiling that same obscene, intimidating smile. "These guys are gonna stay with you for the duration of your stay here at Hotel Atlantis. Although, it would be a *good* idea if you didn't leave this room unless Dr. Weir or I send for you." Sheppard turns and takes half a step before turning back again. His smile is completely gone. He steps in the room just one step. His voice is gruff, low. "And just so we're clear, chief. Your people stabbed Dr. Beckett twelve times and still didn't kill him. We're a lot more efficient here on Atlantis. Try anything, and it'll only take me *one* shot. And you *will* be dead before you hit the ground. Just thought you deserved to know."

Sheppard turns again, and this time continues walking away.

And for some reason, he thinks of the first time he talked to Steve.

 

 **6\. It Hurts When You Do This**

Carson is making pretty good time, considering he's wearing a brace and walking cast and relying on a cane. Rodney has to consciously slow his steps to keep from getting ahead of him. For the most part, he's been in good spirits since his recovery. He's been tired, but everyone in the infirmary comments about how well Dr. Beckett has bounced back from what happened, how he's still his same old good-natured self. It's a credit to how good Carson is at not just his job, but his life. It's not that nobody can tell the difference, but nobody's ever *seen* the difference. They're seeing the only part of Carson they've ever seen.

Rodney knows how much of it really is an act, but he's content to let Carson play the part. Especially since Rodney's usually the one who mopes, wallows, whines, and tirades senselessly whenever he's injured. Rodney doesn't mind letting Carson slap on a happy face if it helps him deal. Even on the way to the conference room, to face a man who tried to kill him, Carson is wearing a smile and bantering with Rodney as though they were walking to lunch.

To answer a question Rodney just asked, Carson smiles and says, "Oh. I was Julius Caesar. The year I graduated. The school I went to required everyone to participate in something artistic, which really isn't my thing, so I put it off 'til the last semester. The teacher made us draw lots for what part we had to play. And just before openin' night, I came down with the flu. I didn't have an understudy and nobody else knew the part, so I had to perform or I wasn't going to graduate. I remember sittin' in the wings thinkin' 'is it time to die yet?'. It became kind of a school legend. Apparently I gave a stunning performance. There were times during my residency when I didn't think I'd make it, but I'd see that book and think, 'I played Caesar with the bloody flu and people thought it was brilliant, at least I'm not sick now, just tired."

Carson laughs and Rodney with him. They keep walking at a snail's pace, talking of nothing that's particularly important. Rodney tells him that he used to get tapped to play piano for school musicals and hated it. Every once and a while, Carson has to stop a minute. He apologizes every time and every time, Rodney looks away from him. He tells himself that it's to give Carson some modicum of dignity, so that he doesn't have to feel Rodney is staring at him every time he needs to rest. But really, Rodney knows that it's because he doesn't like seeing Carson - who actually ran a mile that was two minutes quicker than Rodney's on the last physical fitness test – weakened like that.

When the conference room comes in sight, Rodney catches Carson's arm.

"You don't have to do this, Carson," he says

"Yes, I do, Rodney." Carson pulls his arm away. "I know I'm not the world's bravest man, but I'm not going to let him frighten me away from doing what I came here to do. It's what I want."

"If it makes you feel any better, Major Sheppard said he told the marines to let you hit him if you wanted," Rodney tells him, in lieu of actual comfort.

Carson smiles at the gesture. "I suppose a cane to the head would be rather satisfying."

"My thoughts exactly," he says, standing behind Carson as they enter the conference room.

Carson freezes where he stands when he sees Ceissis's face. Ceissis stands up, as do Weir, Sheppard, Ford, and Teyla.

"Please, sit down," Carson says, in a distant voice. Rodney pulls out a chair for him before sitting down himself. Carson hangs his cane on the edge of the table.

"I come to offer you the apology of the Nahaasa people," says Ceissis. He inclines his head a little. "Your chief-woman has set down the law so that it is you who decides whether or not your people will help mine. I am willing to abide by the chief-woman's law. The Nahaasa will do no harm to your people if they return."

Carson narrows his eyes and mutters. "Do no harm."

"Yes. That is the law that I will set down among the Nahaasa. There will be no harm."

Carson looks around the room for a moment. When he looks straight on into Ceissis's face, it is clear to all observers that he remembers the moment of shock when the spear first sliced its way into his chest, knocking him backwards into the water, that it all floods back in like filthy flood water - the desperate floundering in the water, the pain. He remembers desperately floundering in the water, in pain.

And he remembers the split second when he saw all of the Nahaasa coming towards him. For just that split second, he thought they were coming to help him. Then there was nothing but pain.

Seeing Ceissis's face brings back everything in harsh, clear detail. The way he screamed for them to stop, until the air was gone from his lungs. Their faces like angry drama masks. The fear of dying and the pain that never stopped and the hard, jolting incomprehensibility of their violence. The blood in the water and the gunfire and sharp, hot metal smell of freshly fired rounds. When he looks at Ceissis, it's practically all Carson _can_ see.

Then, for no particular reason at all, Carson thinks of the man he saved, the one who's life cost him all this.

So he asks, "What happened to the man who was pushed out of the tree?"

Ceissis looks away. "The gods are dealing with him."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The plague on my people has touched him as well. It consumes him with fever and he vomits without end. He will die soon."

Carson is staring down at his own hands for a second, hands that have still visible scratches and small stitches from where he tried to defend himself. He looks up again.

"What did he do that was so terrible?"

"Even I do not understand it. Some evil spirit whispered into his ear and told him to burn the face of his sister. He was once a great warrior and now he behaves like a wild animal. He murmurs secrets to himself and at night screams curses and does not sleep."

It's a knee jerk reaction that causes Carson to start mentally tallying and catagorizing the symptoms – searching for clues that will rule out diagnoses until he's found one. He thinks schizophrenia, perhaps brain damage if he knew more of the case history, maybe even some kind of reaction to a hallucinogenic substance that the Nahaasa might be using. Carson thinks of blood and burned faces and a man howling at the moon in the throes of illness that was no fault of his own. Then he looks over at Rodney, who's sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed, face a carved mask of anger and judgement.

For a moment he flashes back to hearing Rodney's voice screaming "Get off of him! Stop it! Stop!" and then a litany of "Oh god, oh god, oh god" once he took stock of Carson's wounds.

"Dr. Beckett?" Weir asks, in a gentle, prodding voice.

Carson shakes his head to clear it.

"If I agreed to letting my people return to your world, would you let them treat the man I saved?" Carson asks.

They all stare at him. Carson imagines they were prepared for a scathing speech about how Ceissis and his people had no right or reason to ask him for help.

"Do not ask this. That man deserves death."

"I don't believe in that," Carson says, leaning forward. "In people deservin' death. Because I don't believe that anybody is wise enough to know when someone else should live or die. I do, however, believe that everyone has the right to decide their own deaths. I came to your world to help you and you ran me through with a bloody spear. But, I decided a long time ago that I was willin' to risk dyin' if it meant helping people. It was my choice to be there. So now, you have to make a choice."

"So your people will come?"

Carson shakes his head. "No. None of my people are going to step foot on your planet."

Ceissis opens his mouth to protest. "Please. My people are dying!"

"So was I!" Carson roars and then takes a deep breath. "I will, however, advise Dr. Weir to allow your people to come through the Stargate to Atlantis to receive medical treatment. Provided that the man I saved is with you. If I don't see him with your people when you come through the gate, we won't lift one bloody finger to help you. Those are my terms. Take 'em or leave 'em. Frankly, I don't really care which."

Carson takes his cane from the edge of the table and awkwardly rises from the table, careful of his injured leg. Rodney stands up to give him an extra arm to balance on while he gets clear of the chairs, but he refuses to take it. He leaves the room under nothing more than his own steam.

Rodney hears Ceissis protest and Weir say, as the door slides closed, "Dr. Beckett's decision is final."

Carson is walking as quickly as he can, and considering his current incapacitation, he’s going at light speed. Rodney follows a little behind, leaning to one side, trying to see what he’s doing He keeps limping swiftly along. Finally, he has to stop and ducks into an empty storage room. The door stays open for him. One hand is bracing all of his weight on his cane and the other is gripping the door frame. His head his pressed back against the wall.

"Hey, you all right, Carson?" Rodney asks, leaning against the wall next to him.

Carson nods his head so frantically that Rodney knows he can't possibly be okay.

"I kept seein' it happen, when I looked at him. I was tryin' to save a man's life. How to do you hate someone for savin' a man's life so much that you're willing to kill him? It makes no bloody *sense*!" Carson says, taking lots of quick, hard breaths.

Rodney comes in close and puts his hand on Carson's arm. He frowns and wishes there something he could do besides watch and listen. It's all he's been doing for days. Watching and listening without ever once being able to fix anything. Suddenly, in a moment of physical closeness that's not only completely out of Carson's usually distant nature, but extremely surprising considering where they are, Carson leans into Rodney and lets his arm go around Rodney's waist.

It's a little awkward, and Rodney can't help himself. He looks around to make sure nobody has noticed. Not that he's sure he'll pull away from Carson if anyone sees, but he doesn't want to have to make that decision just yet. Not when he's pretty sure that for the moment, Carson *needs* this.

So he takes Carson’s hand by the wrist and moves it off the door frame so the door will slide closed and they can have something resembling privacy. Rodney always figured eventually he’d end up in a closet somewhere, doing something that’s completely unallowed. He just never thought it’d be this. Or that it wouldn’t be about him at all.

Carson tries to laugh, fails. "Is it time to die yet?"

Rodney frowns with sad, sad eyes. And understands, for the first time, how completely terrified Carson must have been. It makes his decision to save any of those people even more mystifying. Rodney can’t begin to fathom how he did it – sat in front of Ceissis and said with a stern voice, through the pain of his wounds and the fear that’s still too close to have faded, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Rodney puts his hand to the side of Carson’s face; because it’s the only thing he can even begin to think of to comfort Carson. Carson’s eyes close and he breathes out.

"Not even close, Carson," Rodney answers. He pulls Carson into him.

He supposes Carson has every right to cling to him like a life raft, because for a moment there, Rodney understood what it meant to watch a man drown.

And still, Carson manages to say, "It’s not as bad as bein’ Caesar, though. Now that was hell."

 

\- END -


End file.
